


The Orb of Virility

by aohatsu



Series: we have learned the footsteps [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Fuck Or Die, M/M, September - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:40:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23739988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aohatsu/pseuds/aohatsu
Summary: In September, Peter goes to space.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Series: we have learned the footsteps [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1713436
Comments: 8
Kudos: 119
Collections: What Fen Do (Instead of Going Outside), When Death Loves Flamingos





	The Orb of Virility

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LearnedFoot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnedFoot/gifts).



Peter glances at Mr. Stark from across the ship. He's in his suit but the mask is off so that Peter can see his face. Despite that, Mr. Stark is very obviously looking anywhere but at Peter.

They're on an actual Avengers mission in space, Peter’s first since officially becoming an Avenger—or, well, his first since Titan—and Mr. Stark won't even look at him. All because of what happened last month at Peter's birthday. 

Peter flushes even remembering it. Sure, he'd been affected by Thor's attempt at developing his own type of alcohol, but still, Peter had been—been—

Desperate. 

Wanton. 

Crazed enough to drag his hands across Mr. Stark's chest, his stomach. To press his mouth to Mr. Stark's throat.

He'd actually stood there, clinging to the man he's been in love with for years, and _begged_ him to fuck him. 

He'd come just from listening to his voice, and it hadn't been enough. He'd been burning with how much he needed it, and Mr. Stark had had to—had had to _fuck_ him, desperate and sweaty and only doing it because Peter’s blood pressure was going through the roof.

And he had Peter absolutely keening by the end of it, begging like he was—well.

And then he'd left and hadn't looked Peter in the eye since. Not that he'd had the chance, what with how Mr. Stark had managed to avoid even being in the same _room_ as Peter since then, which was actually really impressive considering how often Peter is at the compound these days.

If it wasn't for this distress call from Nebula and the rest of the Guardians crew, Peter's not sure Mr. Stark would have ever spoken to him again. Definitely not before Peter started at Columbia in the fall.

"Okay," Quill says, shooting finger guns at Peter as if he thought that would make him look cool. "We have to go down to the planet and hang with the Pouickagians long enough to get Drax and Gamora out. Like a distraction, but without being obvious about it. Man, we never should have let Drax go, he can't lie for shit—"

"Can't Blue go with us?" Tony interrupts, his voice pointed in the sort of way that means _instead of Peter_.

Peter flinches just enough that he knows Mr. Stark catches it. Mr. Stark, finally, looks at him. "Just bad memories of you on an alien planet, kid. I know you're capable," he says, voice softer, meant to be reassuring, Peter knows.

It isn’t.

"I cannot," Nebula interjects. She glances at Peter, then turns her gaze back to Tony. "This particular species is not friendly to what they perceive to be... artificial life. You and Peter stand a better chance of blending in long enough to locate and retrieve my sister and the buffoon she is stranded with."

"Hey!" Rocket yells from the front. "We're landing, get your asses ready." He starts chuckling, and then the ship takes an abrupt nosedive toward the planet. Peter grips a bar protruding from the wall, sticking to it so that he doesn't go flying. Mr. Stark stumbles, catching himself on the back of a chair.

"Rocket! Watch it, you little—" Quill yells, stomping over toward Rocket to start arguing.

Nebula rolls her eyes.

They land a minute later, and both Tony and Peter leave the ship sans armor and dressed in plain sweatpants and t-shirts to better blend with the locals. Quill is dressed the same, although his clothes look like they've come straight out of an eighties music video, so Peter's not sure about this blending in plan. Still, they know the general area that Gamora and Drax are hiding in, so it shouldn’t take all that long to find them even without their sensors.

Mr. Stark had been cursing that F.R.I.D.A.Y. and Karen both had been on fritz ever since they got in range of the planet, but Rocket had shrugged and said, “Yeah, the feather birds down there don’t care much for technology. It’s why I refused to go down there in the first place.”

Anyway, Quill’s weird choice in attire is why Peter isn't all that surprised when one of the aliens—they look mostly human, except that they’re all at least six or seven feet tall and have crazy sharp nails and don’t wear shoes and have this crazy look in their eyes that makes Peter not want to get on their bad side—catches sight of Quill, yells something that the universal translator translates as _Egg thief!_ and Quill promptly disappears into the crowd with a strangled "Scatter!" as four or five aliens all chase after him.

Peter watches a little in horror as the aliens get even taller, their nails turn more into talons, and feathers start bursting out of their skin. He jumps when Mr. Stark grabs his elbow, but goes with him easily when they duck into the opposite side of the street and carefully try to blend in with the other non-scary-as-shit aliens.

Luckily, nobody is actually chasing Mr. Stark and Peter. After walking for a few minutes, they duck into the side of a big stone building where nobody else is around. 

“You okay?” Mr. Stark asks, letting go of Peter’s arm.

Peter nods, swallowing. “I, yeah, fine. Do you think Quill—”

“I’m sure Quill’s fine, and if he’s not, I don’t actually care that much.”

Mr. Stark tries talking into the communicator then, to find out what’s going on, and Peter fidgets while waiting. Nobody is responding, though there was a suspicious two-second noise that sounded suspiciously like Star Wars-style blasters followed by static.

They settle into an awkward silence for a second, Mr. Stark pinching the bridge of his nose and Peter awkwardly drawing the outline of a spider into the dirt with his toe. Just as the silence gets to be too much and Peter opens his mouth to ask if they’re alright or if Peter really did mess everything up at his birthday last month, the comms patch back in.

"We've got Drax and Gamora!"

Peter almost sighs in relief, and a little in disappointment too. That means the mission is over, and he hadn't been able to do anything to help. He hadn’t been able to work up the courage to talk to Mr. Stark either, let alone talk to him about what happened at his birthday party.

He’s distracted enough that he doesn’t notice the two men approaching until he can hear their footsteps, and by then, it’s too late to grab Mr. Stark and disappear. Their shadows come into view first, making Mr. Stark look up, tensing as the two men—definitely the feathered aliens, even if it’s only the talons Peter can see right then—come around the corner.

They stop in front of Peter and Mr. Stark, crossing their arms and narrowing their eyes, looking Peter and Mr. Stark up and down carefully before one of them says, "Go to the temple immediately."

Peter blinks. They must take too long to respond, because the other one jumps in, much louder, "It is time for worship! Go to the temple!" And then he and Mr. Stark are both shoved unceremoniously into the building that they’d been hiding next to at the same time that Rocket has patched through the comms again.

"What are you two doing? You didn't get caught, did you?" There’s arguing over the line, but neither Peter nor Mr. Stark can exactly answer Rocket’s question without giving away who they are, which doesn’t seem like a great plan considering neither of their suits is working right now. In hindsight, Peter thinks it was a really dumb idea to send Mr. Stark out here with him and Quill. He should have stayed on the ship.

"You got caught. You idiots. Well, don't be like Drax. Just lie. It'll be fine."

"To lie is morally reprehensible," comes a voice that must be Drax. "I do not understand why anyone would do such a thing."

"Because of situations like this one, you giant idiot!"

Then Gamora patches through. "Guys, the Pouickagians worship a deity that requires they marry monogamously and show proof through worship. If you've been caught, you'll have to pretend to follow their customs or they'll kill you for the dishonor. We'll work on a way to get you out."

"They can't be serious," Mr. Stark mutters, before they're shoved into a room and their comms instantly shut down. Peter's eyes go wide and he grabs Mr. Stark's hand, drawing him to a sudden stop.

The room is definitely a temple of worship, though it’s not like any Peter has ever seen before.

There's an altar with a golden orb that kind of looks like a giant egg. There are colored glass windows shining down colored light throughout the room in odd shapes that Peter supposes must mean something to the locals that’s going over his head. But there are also hundreds of colorful pillows and rugs spread around the room, and at least two or three dozen couples laid out atop the rugs, completely naked, and most definitely having sex.

Mr. Stark immediately grabs Peter like he's about to forcefully drag him back out of the room, but the two aliens take up places by the doors, as if they’re guarding the place and making sure nobody escapes at the same time.

One of them glares at Peter and says, "Tourists," with a grimace. "You must prove your love. Worship before the orb of virility." His eyes go hard when Mr. Stark takes a step toward the door anyway, like he’s willing to test that obvious _you may not pass_ vibe the aliens are giving off. 

"You will not dishonor the deity by coming to our planet as a hedonist,” the alien says through clinched teeth. Three feathers delicately pop out of the skin at his neck.

"What?" Mr. Stark says, voice just this side of angry.

"Are you not married?" the second alien asks.

By the tone, Peter realizes that any answer in the negative is going to end badly. Already holding Mr. Stark's hand, he tightens his grip and says, "Of course we are. We've just never, uh, worshiped in a temple like this before."

Mr. Stark whips his head back to look at Peter, incredulous. Peter swallows and keeps looking past him, “Can you just, uh, tell us what to do? How to, uh, worship...”

“The Orb of Virility.”

“Right, the… orb of virility,” Peter says, nearly wincing. The orb of virility? What the hell?

But the aliens have softened, some, and the second one nods.

“The orb is our most sacred artifact. It is the tangible form of our deity of love. To worship before the orb is a true honor that many come to practice here, though not all are familiar with the customs. You must give yourselves to the orb. Perform an act of love before the orb with your chosen husband,” he says, nodding to Mr. Stark. “If chosen, the orb may choose to grace you with a gift to honor your marriage.”

Well, that explains why there are so many couples having sex in front of a giant golden egg at least.

“Yeah, well, what if we don’t want to _worship_ quite so publicly?” Mr. Stark interjects with gritted teeth. “Our planet has a thing called public indecency; you may have heard of it.”

The aliens are back to glaring. Peter almost wants to glare at Mr. Stark too. Sure, Peter still has his super strength, but he doesn’t want to risk fighting a whole group of potentially dangerous aliens when he has to protect Mr. Stark too! What if Mr. Stark got hurt?

“You will worship, or you will die as a blaspheme to the sanctity of your own marriage.”

“To reject the worship of the orb…” the other one mutters, disgust clear in his voice. “I’ll never understand aliens.”

 _Ironic_ , Peter thinks, and then tightens his grip on Mr. Stark’s hand.

“We’ll just go over here then, and, uh, do our worship. Thanks for explaining… and all that.”

Peter drags Mr. Stark to a vacant rug. It’s a deep, royal red, and soft like velvet but oddly silky too—not a material Peter’s ever felt before. He looks at Mr. Stark, shoulders drawn up nearly to his ears. “Sorry. I don’t think I could fight—”

“It’s fine, kid,” Mr. Stark says, though his voice is heavy and defeated. Upset, even. Angry, maybe.

Maybe all of it put together, actually.

They’re close enough to several other couples that they don’t dare try to contact Rocket or the others again, and who knows how long it’ll be until they figure out how to rescue them. And they’ve already had sex once, even if it wasn’t under the best of circumstances, and Peter could just—he could—

“I could, um.”

He can’t say it. God, he’d begged for it just a little more than a month ago, and now his face is bright red even thinking the words. Fuck.

Instead of saying it out loud, he sinks to his knees.

Mr. Stark visibly flinches, then breathes and puts a hand on top of Peter’s head, fingers running through Peter’s hair. “You don’t have to do this, kid. We can figure something else out. We _should_ figure something else out.”

Peter’s heart is stuttering in his chest, heavy and loud and choking already. It’s heady in the room, and it smells like when his Aunt puts too many incense candles around the apartment but also kind of like sweat and something else Peter doesn’t want to think about too hard. 

It’s a little hard to breathe.

God, he wishes there weren’t other people around, even if they aren’t paying him and Mr. Stark any attention. Well, other than the two guards that, when Peter glances at them, are still glaring at them.

“Can you tell me what to do?” he asks, barely a whisper.

A long, quiet pause, and then: “If you need me to.”

He says it, but he doesn’t do anything else for a long minute, not until Peter looks up at him from where he’s kneeling on the ground. Mr. Stark’s eyes are dark, his mouth set in a pained grimace. Peter glances back to the ground, but determinedly straightens a second later when Mr. Stark finally says, “Breathe for me, kid.”

Right. Okay.

He breathes, slow and deep, and then forces himself to do it again as Mr. Stark uses the hand not touching Peter’s head to slip in under the elastic of his waistband and, after another moment, pulls out his cock.

He’s not hard, not all the way, not yet, but Peter’s mouth suddenly feels full of saliva and he has to swallow anyway. The tip is darker than the base, and the whole length looks silky smooth. Soft, even as it firms up in Mr. Stark’s hand as he roughly pulls on it, getting it to harden up without Peter having to touch it at all.

“Can—I mean, I’ll—”

“Yeah,” Mr. Stark breathes, and Peter doesn’t stammer out the question again.

He leans in and licks at the head, relishing the way it jumps against his tongue, sliding over his lips and bumping into his cheek. He tastes like sweat and salt and musk, and Peter swallows again, sucking a deep breath because of how muggy the air around them feels. 

“Sorry,” he says, and he’s not even sure why except that he needed to say something, anything.

“You’re alright,” Mr. Stark says through his teeth, and Peter tries again to wrap his mouth around the head of Mr. Stark’s length, using a hand to wrap around the base and keep it steady as Mr. Stark slides his now-free hand against Peter’s cheek. The hand still in his hair tightens, and Peter winces at the sharp tug.

“Suck, Peter,” Mr. Stark says, and Peter does, hollowing his cheeks and swallowing as best he can around the feel of it, the way Mr. Stark fills his whole mouth. His own knees feel weak. “Christ, kid,” Mr. Stark groans and rocks forward just a tiny bit—but enough to make Peter almost choke on him nonetheless. He scrambles to swallow and breathe at the same time, bringing a hand up to clutch at Mr. Stark’s stomach.

“Shit, you okay?” 

He pulls out, and Peter coughs, spit dripping down his chin, but he shakes his head and after a short minute to catch his breath, mutters, “Please,” almost too quietly for Mr. Stark to hear and leans forward to get his cock back on his tongue.

After another minute, Mr. Stark says, “That’s good,” and runs a finger down Peter’s cheek, rubbing his thumb against Peter’s neck, right where you can feel his pulse rabbiting under the skin. Peter can feel his ears and neck burning, is sure his whole face is flushed. He’s hard in his pants, so hard that he’s fucking forward ever so often, his body wanting the friction, wanting touch.

Mr. Stark’s hips stutter forward, once, twice, and Peter squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to choke on it. Mr. Stark’s hand in his hair tightens and Peter can’t help but start coughing when the sharp, unexpected taste of Mr. Stark’s come explodes on his tongue. Mr. Stark pulls back, pulling on his own cock to work every last bit of come out.

He stares at Peter’s face, eyes dark, and Peter’s entire chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath while his own saliva and Mr. Stark’s come drips down his chin, making his face a mess. With Mr. Stark looking at him like that, it’s almost possible to forget where they are; that there are aliens around them, having sex and making noises. It’s almost possible to forget that this wasn’t really a choice—that the only other option would be a fight that there’s no guarantee they’d win.

Mr. Stark sinks to his knees and doesn’t even give Peter time to finish catching his breath before he’s pushing the heel of his palm against Peter’s cock through his sweats. Peter keels forward, his forehead landing hard against Mr. Stark’s shoulder as he gasps and shudders, trying desperately not to come too soon, too fast, but it’s a lost cause. It’s barely a minute and he’s coming all over the inside of his pants, hips stuttering forward uncontrollably as he chases the feeling of his orgasm.

He sucks in a breath.

God, it’s so hard to breathe in the room; it’s muggy, humid, perfumed.

“Ready, kid?” Mr. Stark mutters softly against his hair, and God, but the feeling of his breath over the shell of his hair makes his entire body tremble and his cock stir back to life again. Mr. Stark uses his own shirt to wipe at Peter’s chin doesn’t help either, the tenderness of the act misleading to the reality of what they’ve been doing.

But it doesn’t matter. Mr. Stark wasn’t asking if he was ready for round two.

Instead, and somehow Peter must have missed the conversation that had been happening on the comms, Quill’s ship bursts in through the temple wall, throwing ash and rubble everywhere. Peter jumps up, still shaky but determined to keep Mr. Stark out of the way of any aliens and their talons.

He ends up kicking two of them, punching a third, and ripping out the feathers of a fourth (completely by accident, God, he hadn’t meant to do that and by the way the lady screamed it must have hurt which made him feel even worse).

Rocket is there with what looks like a literal rocket a minute later and Peter pushes Mr. Stark to the ground, covering him before the entire building shakes and more dust falls onto the ground. The orb they’d all been worshiping has fallen to the floor, rolling to a stop next to them.

“This isn’t cool, Mr. Stark! We’re not supposed to go around destroying places of worship!” MJ would never let him hear the end of it if she ever found out about this, he thinks. Well, maybe, if he told her about the whole “Have sex in front of the orb or die!” bit, but _still_.

“I get that, kid, but I’m not super worried about it right now! Get on the ship already! Hey, Build-a-Bear, let’s _go_!”

They jump onto the ship, Peter first, followed by Mr. Stark and then Rocket last, laughing wildly as he throws another explosive out behind him.

“You’re a lunatic,” Mr. Stark snaps at Rocket, who laughs and says, “Of course I am! Did you see their faces? With the beaks? Their feathers all fluffed up?” Then he just starts laughing harder, and Peter frowns.

Mantis earnestly says, “Do not worry. Rocket has hated the Pouickagians for a very long time. He finds their distress very enjoyable.” She touches Rocket’s shoulder—Rocket pauses, considers her, and then keeps laughing—and starts immediately giggling as well.

Mr. Stark ignores them and pushes Peter into a chair before grabbing his face, forcing Peter to look in multiple directions before he sits back and lets out a relieved sigh. Peter looks at him too, visually checking for blood or bruises—but he seems okay. Peter even spots that stupid golden orb on the ground next to his feet. He must have grabbed it in the mad scramble for the ship.

Peter thinks they probably should have left it there.

Mr. Stark rubs a hand over his face. “Christ, Pete. I’m sorry about—everything that just happened, kid. We’ll—look, we’ll forget it. We— _shit_.”

“Mr. Stark?”

“Kid, it was a bad situation. We did what we had to. You made the right call. We probably couldn’t have gotten out of there on our own. There’s nothing else that needs to be said, alright?”

Oh.

Right.

God, Peter knew that. He knew that there wasn’t anything else—

He just. He knew.

“Right. Um.”

_Do you forgive me for what happened at my birthday party too then?_

_Will you start talking to me again?_

_Spending time with me again?_

Mr. Stark storms to the back of the ship, tapping on his suit as he goes—as soon as they’re off the planet, their suits start to work again, out of the zone that rendered them powerless—so that Peter, and everyone else, can no longer see his face.

Peter pulls up his legs into the chair he’s sitting on and puts his face against his knees, breathing slowly. Carefully.

“Boy,” comes a voice from directly ahead of him. Peter looks up, eyes a little puffy—not from crying, it was just—everything that had happened. Drax is standing there, looking solemn.

“I did not realize that you and the man in the metal suit were mates.”

“What?”

“For the last time, Drax, they were lying!” Gamora yells from the front.

Rocket interjects, “Actually, on that planet, worshiping in front of that damn egg or whatever is an acceptance of marriage, so they’re definitely hitched now.”

Peter chokes, looking back at Rocket. “ _What?_ ”

Groot bumps Peter’s shoulder with a branch and says, “I am Groot,” rolling his eyes.

Peter really, really, just wants to go home.


End file.
